The Fallen Blossom
by aloof elf princess
Summary: A story of prophecy, discovery, love and The Battle Of The Ring...
1. Chapter 1

**The Fallen Blossom**

**Chapter 1**

_Disclaimer: Most of these characters belong to Tolkein (Praise him!). Only Myria belongs to me. The song in Chapter 2 (Against All Odds) was written by Phil Collins, and performed (in this instance) by Westlife and Mariah Carey._**__**

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Arwen sat in the large open window in her bedroom at her father's home. She was perched on a beautifully carved window sill. A breathtaking view lay before her - Rivendell was spread out in all its glory. But Arwen Evenstar paid no heed to the picturesque elven haven below her. Something was preying on her mind. She glanced at the cherry blossom on the tree to the left of her window, and followed with her eyes the slow descent of one petal as it was buffeted by the wind. Gently, serenely, the petal floated down onto the windowsill. Arwen stared at it, not focusing on the soft pink petal but on some distant memory. So it was now April already. Soon, she would go to visit her mother in Lothlórien, and then she could meet with Elessar no longer.

They had met such a short time ago, but their time together meant the world to her. Yet she was living a dream, a lie. Their relationship was doomed from the start. Breaking out of her silent reverie, she beckoned for her handmaidens. Aylson and Pherlaith scurried over to their mistress.

"Please be ready to travel. We shall leave for Lothlórien at dawn tomorrow." whispered Arwen in a voice heavy with sorrow. She swept out of the room.

Myria sat watching Arwen sadly. Arwen's young cousin sat in one of the pagodas on Elrond's sweeping lawns, gazing up at her cousin in the window. She was no stranger to pain and suffering, having lost both of her parents at the age of thirteen. Beruthian and Melachor were struck down during the Great Battle of the Second Age, leaving behind an orphaned child. Myria had experienced much sadness in her young life.

For all her two thousand, seven hundred and sixty -two years, Myria had the appearance of a fresh -faced sixteen year old, a mere child. She looked not unlike her pretty cousin, but each possessed their own quality of beauty. Myria's long dark hair framed her heart -shaped face. She wore a pearl upon her unlined brow. Her skin was pale like porcelain, and she had full, red lips. She watched Arwen through keen sapphire blue eyes, which glinted with unshed tears. Myria blinked, and her long curling lashes were moistened with tears. Although she had been called attractive, her beauty paled into insignificance when next to her elegant cousin. The only thing preventing her true ethereal beauty shine through for all to see was the agonised expression on her face. She had her own private sorrow, one that troubled her heart.

Myria had recently experienced a disturbingly real dream. It was so strong that she believed she had seen a premonition of things yet to come. She had witnessed a great battle, one which sealed the fate of the whole of Middle Earth. The outcome could spell the end of the Elven race. Visions of hundreds of elves falling in battle remained fresh in her mind, and she felt burdened with the fate of her people. She had also seen great warriors slain by messengers of darkness, and saw a dark shadow creeping over the once peaceful land. Amongst these visions of dread and foreboding, she saw the face of a young halfling, a scared yet hopeful face, whose blue eyes were fixed in a look of terror, yet hopefulness. She knew not whether these things would come to pass, or whether they were just things that might have been. However, one of her kindred, Galadriel, lady of the Golden Woods, possessed a magical mirror in which could be seen visions of the future, so it was not impossible for Myria to have experienced something of the sort. 

Then Glorfindel approached her lonely seat, interrupting her brooding thoughts, and spoke to her kindly and courteously. He had always been good to her, taking her under his wing when her parents perished and treating her like a little sister. She left her rumination for a while to go to dine with the tall, striking elf.

As Myria entered the hall, with Glorfindel by her side, strains of sweet elven music greeted her. Elrond was today celebrating the arrival of a guest, a halfling. The halfling sat at the right hand of Elrond, and Glorfindel proceeded to sit in the empty chair at Elrond's left hand, after ushering Myria to the seat next to him. She looked with interest at the halfling; she had never been introduced to one before. 

"Myria," Elrond nodded to her, smiling only with his eyes, as elven lords are inclined to do. 

"Bilbo Baggins at your service and your family's," the halfling introduced himself. His eyes twinkled at her. He had a gentle smile, and his old, lined face was split in a smile. Myria suddenly felt quite shy.

"I am Myria, Elrond is my uncle." She replied demurely. 

" I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Myria," Bilbo returned sincerely.

"Bilbo is an old friend of mine, from his questing days many years ago. He has visited us before, but this time he will remain here for his old age," her uncle elucidated.

"Pah! Old age!" retorted Bilbo "I am only eleventy-one years of age, compared to all of you venerable elves!" he chuckled. Myria was growing to like this halfling, who possessed a long life-span compared to his kind, yet was but a child when compared to her race. The rest of her evening passed rapidly, with much friendly banter between the halfling and her uncle. It was clear that Elrond was immensely fond of this little man, and it was not until the evening began drawing to a close that Myria recalled some of the tales she had heard of days long ago.

"Mr Baggins, was it not you who travelled to Dale with a party of dwarfs and Gandalf the Grey, to free the good people from the desolation of Smaug?" 

"Ah, indeed it was, my fair maiden," replied Bilbo with a nod of his head, "and now I must retire. Good night to you." and he bent and kissed her hand, and disappeared out of the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Arwen awoke the next morning to the sounds of birdsong. She glanced out of the window, and saw that dawn was slowly casting its gentle glow over the land, heating up the earth after the long cold night. She arose as her chamber was bathed in warm golden light, and began her preparations for the journey.

Myria rose at dawn. She looked out her window, to see the sun rising over Rivendell, flooding the haven with soft golden light. As she gazed out over the tranquil scene, she saw a party making its way through the carefully tended gardens. Dew was glistening upon the grass stalks. She saw that they were heading away from Rivendell, and knew instinctively that it was Arwen making her way to the home of her mother's people in the woods of Lothlórien. As Myria looked, Arwen turned and cast a sad eye over the sleeping valley. Then she turned her back on the sleeping grove and began her journey.

As Arwen left Rivendell, she had a heavy heart. She had hoped that before leaving her father's home, she would have a last meeting with Elessar, but it was not to be. As her party crested the first hill, Arwen suppressed her grief and looked forward to her arrival in Lothlórien.

The figure stood, hooded and cloaked, atop the bridge over the Rivendell Ford. He was wearing a simple homespun travelling robe, and his face was hidden by a deep brown hood. The figure was lean and rough-looking, as a result of a lifetime of wandering. This was Strider, one of the Rangers of the North. As he waited, a sound of mingled song and laughter reached his ears. Shortly, a group of elves came from amongst a copse of birch trees and walked towards him. In the midst of the group, an exquisitely beautiful elf maiden walked with her head bowed in sorrow. She had pure, pale skin, and a divinely beautiful face, which was tarnished by the mournful expression upon it. Her bright grey eyes were downcast. As the party drew nearer, Arwen lifted her head and espied the Ranger. A radiant smile formed on her lips, and she greeted him gladly when the elves stopped upon the bridge. 

As the pair tenderly reunited, Arwen's elven escort drew aside, giving her the chance to speak alone with her beloved. He could see by the pain in her eyes that she was troubled, but she would not reveal the nature of her distress. Strider heeded her words of as she told him of their imminent parting, but could not comprehend how this was causing the maiden he knew and loved so much distress. As they embraced, he felt the anxiety in her slender form. When they finally parted, it was with much sadness that Arwen Undómiel went upon her way. Meanwhile, Strider continued on his journey towards Rivendell, the Last Homely House.

Arwen stood and watched her beloved disappear out of her sight. She knew her father would prevent them from visiting one another, and that Elessar would obey the venerable elf, to whom he owed much. Bt why did it have to be? As she stood in silence, the memory of a song she had once heard drifted through her head.

_How can I just let you walk away,_

_Just let you leave without a trace._

_When I stand here taking every breath,_

_With you._

_You're the only one who really knew me at all._

She turned to continue her long journey with tears trickling down her fair face.

As Myria traversed the woodlands of Rivendell, alone with her thoughts, she witnessed a cloaked figure enter the woods. The tall frame of the stranger was swathed in a simple brown travelling robe. As he drew nearer, Myria recognised him as Elessar, Elrond's adopted son. She advanced to greet him.

As Aragorn entered Rivendell, he glimpsed a beautiful young maiden approaching him. She stood tall, yet humble, with dark hair, held back with long braids, tumbling down her back. She bore a striking resemblance to Arwen...

"I beg of your pardon," he asked politely "May I enquire if you know of an Arwen Undómiel?" Her eyes softened, and she gave a clear laugh.

"Why, yes, for she is my cousin!" replied Myria with an angelic smile "I am Myria, Elrond's niece." Aragorn mused, for something the maid had said was perplexing him.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I believe your kindred call me by the name Elessar." He introduced himself in return. "May I visit Master Elrond?" Myria nodded.

"I shall take you to my uncle."

Aragorn, son of Arathorn stood beside Elrond. When in Elrond's presence, he was known by the name Elessar. Aragorn had lost his father when he was but a babe in arms, and his mother had taken him to the home of Elrond, where the kindly elf lord had adopted him as a son, giving him the name Entel. When he became a man, Entel was granted the name Elessar, a name he was called by all of Elrond's kindred. To others, he was known simply as Strider. Now, Aragorn looked troubled. Elrond faced him with an expression of faint anger mingled with sadness.

"Elessar, my son," he began "seeing you with my daughter fills me with gladness, but saddens my heart. For we shall travel to the Grey Havens in times to come, and then Evenstar shall have to choose whether to renounce her immortality in favour of remaining on Middle Earth with a King of men, or rejoining her kin in the lands across the sea. I fear the loss of my daughter to you, my son, and this thought causes me much grief." Aragorn immediately understood Arwen's previous hesitancy, and despaired at their future together. Elrond smiled sadly. 

"Elessar, Aragorn," he spoke sombrely, using Aragorn's birth name for the first time since the fatherless child Entel entered Rivendell, "Alas! For what is a father to do? I am happy to see you happy, yet I cannot allow my daughter to be lost to me forever. I am reluctant, my son, to cause you such unhappiness, yet it seems I have no choice. Elessar," Elrond said with great regret yet determination, "I would ask you to pay my daughter no heed that she may choose of her own free will her destiny. I advise that you continue on your quest to fulfil the legacy of you fore-fathers and restore yourself to the throne of Gondor. I am deeply sorry, Elessar." Elrond studied Aragorn with a grave face for a moment, then left the room, with his head bowed


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Myria sat with the halfling at the centre of the table, in the place normally occupied by Arwen, that evening as they dined. The halfling was good company; he was entertaining yet light of heart. He had commented on something which had greatly amused Myria, when a cloaked figure entered the hall and approached them. The figure swept the hood back to reveal himself to be Elessar.

"Dúnaden!" cried Bilbo. Myria turned to him in astonishment. Elessar read her look of surprise, and smiled gently.

"Yes, that is also my name, Myria," he spoke softly "My true name is Aragorn, but I seem to be the only one to know of it!" he laughed. "Certainly, I am known to others by a variety of names, all of them belong to me. To this venerable hobbit, I am Dúnaden." Myria instantly liked this lonely wanderer. There was something instantly likeable behind the rough exterior, yet she sensed a sadness also. The tired, lined face was befitting of one with such a solitary, dangerous life, however when he smiled, the weary expression disappeared and was replaced with a kind smile. Elessar joined the companions at table, and Myria began to feel affectionate towards the lonely man.

The meal passed in happiness and laughter. As the first pure notes of elven voices spread through the room, Aragorn and Bilbo took their leave of Myria, leaving her sitting with Glorfindel, as they departed to smoke hobbit-weed and compose poetry and verse.

Back in her chamber, Myria thought with wonder of her table companions. She was growing very fond of Mister Bilbo Baggins, and also of Elessar, or Aragorn, or Dúnaden, whatever his true name may be. Yet some hidden thought or memory stirred in her brain, trying to make itself heard. As her thought turned to her beloved cousin, Myria recalled what had troubled her. This human was one and the same as the man Arwen had pledged her immortality for. Myria could remember her cousin's happiness as she spoke of her beloved, who had mistaken her for Lúthien herself! However, Elessar was surely the name given to the  adopted son of Elrond. Myria gasped. She felt for a moment the heart-rending anguish that Arwen must have endured when she too discovered the true identity of her Ranger. Elrond was only concerned for his children, adopted or otherwise, yet Myria knew the elven lord could never condone this relationship, for it would mean losing his daughter.

  Aragorn paced his chamber restlessly. He now knew why Arwen was grieving when they met upon the bridge. He felt distraught, for the thought of losing his Evenstar brought him much distress. He was also worried for the safety of Arwen, for he knew the time was drawing near when he would be called upon to mend the shards of Narsil, and restore the throne of Gondor. He distrusted himself to even assist in this momentous task, bearing the burden of guilt, for it was his ancestor, Isildur who had been unable to destroy the One Ring many years ago. As he was Isildur's heir, Aragorn was afraid the same flaw would be present in him, and if this was so then all of Middle Earth would fall under the power of the Dark Lord Sauron.

Arwen stood watching the heavens that evening. They were journeying along the course of the River Bruinen, and the party had stopped to rest for the evening. As she studied the stars, her thoughts turned to Aragorn, who would be abiding in Rivendell. She also thought of her cousin Myria, for the child had seemed withdrawn recently. Arwen mediated whether Myria knew anything of the unrest that was slowly settling over the land. Had she but known it, Myria shared the same vision as Arwen and indeed Aragorn. All had foreseen one possible future of Middle Earth, and how the slumbering land was caught in a delicate balance between light and dark. For once the dark had settled fully over the fair land, evil was sure to prevail.

            As the three individuals spent a restless night, sleeping with eyes wide open as was the way of the elves, another was watching them. She gazed with an amused half-smile on her lips, as she saw the destiny of each figure, she also saw what might happen if the Dark lord was not thwarted. The waters in the fountain swirled, and soon Galadriel was looking upon another, quite different face. The eyes were closed, and the face was peaceful in sleep, one lock of dark wavy hair curling over the forehead. Had the creature's eyes been open, they would have shone a deep, innocent blue. For the hobbit was Frodo Baggins, upon whose shoulders the fate of Middle Earth rested.   



	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no-one except Myria. This chapter is really just a link for the other chapters, and so it's very short. Please R&R. (If anyone cares, at the time of writing - early November - in The Two Towers, Frodo and Sam are in the Black Lands with Gollum. That is all.)  
  
And so the days passed, swept away like leaves in the autumnal wind. Myria spent her days gazing from her window at the haven in which she dwelt, while casting her mind to her cousin in the woods of Lóthlorien. She grew increasingly fond of the esteemed hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, and spent much of her time in his chamber, as he chronicled his adventures and created poetry. The words that flowed from his pen had a beautiful musical quality almost akin to the elven poetry, so beloved of her people. The halfling was wise, and he possessed a sense of humour quite foreign to Myria, laughing at himself and at others, but never unkindly. Both valued the others company, and forged a strong, if unlikely, friendship. Arwen Undómiel had arrived in the woods of Lóthlorien. Every time she visited the wonderful place, she was struck by the astonishing beauty of the woods. Arwen spent long hours with her grandmother, the Lady of the Golden Woods, Galadriel, whose wisdom she revered. She spent many hours simply wandering the woods, and marvelling at their immortal beauty, for she knew that in years to come, the elven people would depart Lóthlorien for the Grey Havens, and the beauty of the woodlands would slowly be destroyed. The Dark Lord was extending his reach until his outstretched fingers almost brushed the boundaries of the Celeborn and Galadriel's realm, and their combined power could not repel him forever. Aragorn grew restless, and left the elven sanctuary of Rivendell to wander the troubled land. His inner thoughts mirrored the turbulence of the stricken land, although outwardly he retained his composure. Sauron was gaining power, and Aragorn knew he would have to fulfil his destiny. It was as he was wandering alone with his thoughts, that once again his mind guided him to the boundaries of Hobbiton. He had visited the Shire many times before in order to protect the peaceful inhabitants from the peril they did not yet know of, enclosed as they were from the outside world. It was there that he met Gandalf. Guiding a small pony driven cart, the wizard was an imposing sight; his wild beard spilling out over his worn grey robes, and the deep blue hat resting upon his bristling eyebrows. One hand clutched a gnarled staff, and piercing blue eyes focused directly upon the Ranger. Beneath the blustery exterior, however, there lived a compassionate, mighty wizard. As Aragorn rode up to the wizard's cart, he was greeted with a voice full of urgency. "They are coming. The Nine have left Mordor." Gandalf was clearly not expecting for events to twist with so little warning. Aragorn was also shocked, but his eyes did not betray his private thoughts. "Then we must protect the little people. The Ring must be brought to Rivendell." He wheeled his horse around and galloped away. Arwen heard the soft footfalls that betrayed her grandmother approaching from a long session with her magical fountain, a useful medium similar to the palantir which showed her reflections from the past, present and future. In this way, Galadriel could learn of events yet to come. However, the fountain showed many reflections of possible futures, and only one skilled in such matters could see how terrible events may be prevented. As Arwen turned to greet her grandmother, Galadriel's fair face was sombre. When she spoke, her rich voice betrayed nothing of her thoughts. "You must return to Rivendell. The One Ring will be sent there, and you must aid the Ringbearer. Sauron has awakened the evil that dwells in Mordor. The Nine have left Barad-Dûr." Her thoughts a turmoil, Arwen cast her eyes downward and nodded. As Arwen's procession left the elven sanctuary of Lóthlorien, she felt a deep sadness, as she felt the mourning of a land under a terrible threat. The very trees spoke of the great evil upon the land, and Arwen knew that fair Lóthlorien would very soon be empty, devoid of life and the elanor flowers so beloved by the elves. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Disclaimer: Actually, this is mine. All of it. I am Tolkien. No? Okay, only Myria's mine, blah di blah di blah.  
  
Thus it came that every morning, Myria called upon her halfling friend, as they tended to wander through the beautiful valley together. Myria found that even when she was content in her own solitude, the halfling could lift her out of her silent mood with one of his incredible tales. Bilbo's knowledge of the world and its inhabitants often surpassed that of her and her younger kindred, yet he made light of it all, and his wisdom sought cover behind his anecdotes. For Bilbo's part, he was astounded by the grace and solemnity of the elf maiden, and found her to be both old and young, knowing great sadness and happiness, as was the way of the elves. He spent much of his time trying to assist her in letting the happiness shine through in her expression, knowing she had seen great troubles. She regarded him as her confidant, and he thought of her as a good friend whose company was most enjoyable. Thus the unusual pair were quite content in their companionship. Early one morn, as Myria came to call upon her friend, she found him quite engrossed in some old papers. "A good morning to you, Master Baggins. What can it be, I wonder, which involves you so?" Bilbo looked up at Myria, and it seemed to her that he was older and wearier. Yet a sparkle danced in his eyes. He passed a hand over his forehead. "Welcome, Myria, I have been looking over some old manuscripts. I have not viewed them for a long time. Did you know, I used to have a keen interest in mythology, and took it upon myself to translate many works. Here, you may read them." He pushed a yellowed page towards her, covered in thin spidery handwriting in faded black ink. Myria read its title, 'The Lay Of Gil-galad'. She glanced at Bilbo, a question in her eyes, to which the aged hobbit motioned her to continue her reading.  
  
Gil-galad was an elven king. Of him the harpers sadly sing: The last whose realm was fair and free between the Mountains and the Sea.  
  
His sword was long, his lance was keen, his shining helm afar was seen; the countless stars of heaven's field were mirrored in his silver shield.  
  
But long ago he rode away, and where he dwelleth none can say; for into darkness fell his star in Mordor where the shadows are.  
  
As Myria read the words, she felt a great stirring in her breast. Regardless of the hobbit's incessant chatter as she was reading, she had felt herself spellbound; captured by the essence of the words, having never heard the songs of her people in the Common Tongue. A conflicting range of emotions rose inside her; sadness at the fall of her people, pity that the true majesty and sentiment behind the tales could never be known to those who spoke in the Common Tongue, pride at the might and elegance of her kin, fear of the darkness that dwelt in Mordor. She had an overriding sense of confusion, as she could no longer remember whether any of these things had happened, or were yet to happen. A wave of realisation swept over her, as she recalled fragments of distant memories, regarding the seers. Her grandmother, Galadriel, was one of these beings, able, with the use of a medium, to delve into the past and future. However, it was rare indeed that an elf should experience such visions and premonitions without such aid, even for one of the House of Olwë. Instantaneously, Myria was acutely aware that the time of the elves on Middle Earth was drawing to a close - soon, she would be making the journey to Valinor, with the remainder of the elves. The people travelling to the Undying Lands would leave behind much sadness and ruined hope, if the new Alliance should fail and the land should be enshrouded in a Second Darkness. Myria felt no instinctive tug at her mind to tell her this would not happen, and she wished with all of her being that this should not be so. 


End file.
